WBY Rules and Allowances
by wildblueyonder6
Summary: Sometimes it's hard to decide what's okay by Winchester rules. Other times, he's pretty darn sure he's in Big Trouble. Parental spanking if this offends please don't read. PG John, Sam, Dean


Title: WBY - Rules and Allowances

Characters: John, Sam and Dean

Summary: For Little spankos Spring Challenge – Prompt: Rules and allowances.

"Rules and allowances," That's what Dad said when Sam was in hot water. It was supposed to be a guide of sorts, what rules he needed to follow or if he could bend or break them based on need.

It was hard for a kid to figure out.

There were some rules that were hard and fast. Sam got those pretty quick and Dad was pretty quick to make sure that he got them. Dad let his belt talk if Sam broke one of those rules. Sam would rather run five miles than take a lick or two with Dad's belt so he understood why it was a pretty effective punishment. It didn't mean he liked it of course, but Sam was an analytical kid – he usually thought before he did something, stupid or otherwise, so rarely did he find Dad's belt kissing his ass.

Sam thought he knew what the rules and allowances were, other times though, Sam wasn't so sure. Like stealing.

Stealing was bad, that is unless you needed to steal. If you needed something bad enough and you didn't have the money and you didn't get caught, well Dad was okay with that. He didn't outright condone it, but Sam knew that Dad worked credit cards in a way that was definitely not kosher. Dad needed the money to keep Dean and Sam in clothes and keep a roof over their heads. Hunting wasn't a pro-bowl job, that's what Dean said, so sometimes you needed to do a little creative financing.

But if you were walking down the street and you had a hankering for a Snickers bar but didn't have the 50 cents, well, you couldn't steal it. 'Cause you didn't need it. That isn't to say that both Dean and Sam hadn't stolen their weight in un-needed items, it was just that they never got caught. Because that was the kicker. If you didn't get caught breaking a rule – well then, Dad didn't need to punish you. In fact, Sam thought that Dad would send out a psychic "attaboy" vibe when the boys stole something they didn't need and he didn't find out about it. Which was weird because if he didn't find out then how did he know about it in the first place? Sam didn't understand that – it was too confusing. But he still had a feeling that Dad was secretly proud when they got away with something.

But he did know that stealing was wrong and that unless it was hunt related and necessary, well he better make damn sure he didn't get caught.

Sam also had a guilty conscience. Dean said he was a pansy ass girl about it, and Sam figured Dean was right. Mostly, because Dean was always right. But Sam always felt guilty when he did something wrong. Like stealing. And if he got caught, oddly enough the ass whipping seemed to negate the stealing. Almost like he figured going to Confession would be if you were Catholic. But that didn't feel right either, like he could do whatever he wanted and know that he was forgiven after his ass was busted. Because that wasn't really the truth. It was more like Dad didn't hold a grudge.

Sam held grudges all the time. He never forgot anything. He wondered briefly that when he got pissed off with Dad if he could beat Dad's ass with a belt, maybe he would be able to forgive Dad too. The thought of Dad getting his ass whipped by anyone, let alone Sam, made him smile. He stopped smiling though, 'cause he was in Big Trouble and that is all he needed - to have Dad walk in on him while he was grinning like a monkey and get even madder.

Sam pushed his brain back to rules and allowances.

Every time he thought about breaking a rule, he needed to find out if there was an allowance to it. Then he had to figure out if there was no allowance, would he get caught and finally, if he did get caught, was it worth getting as ass kicking for it.

There were also rules that were steadfast with Dad and allowances with everyone else, like lying, or breaking into some place (not that there was any place to break in with Dad, but his journal was private and unless Sam had permission, he couldn't just look at it). But the Winchesters lied to everyone and B&E was as much a part of hunting as being a good shot was.

There was a lot to think about when you were ten. Which is why he was sitting in his room debating if his father was belt him or let him go.

Sam glanced around the room that he and Dean shared. Sam's side was pretty neat. He kept his bed made and his clothes picked up, his few books were neatly stacked – alphabetical by author's names. Dean's bed was made too 'cause Dad said if the Marine's taught him nothing (and Lord knows, John Winchester learned bunches as a Marine) that you made your rack in the morning.

That was another freaky ass thing Dad did. He didn't care about laundry, didn't mind too much about dishes, although the boys learned to get rid of anything green that didn't start out that way, but he wanted their beds made.

Go figure.

He stole something he didn't need – didn't even want really but his bed was made. Shouldn't that count for something? Sam shook his head and pondered it. Nah, didn't mean a damn thing.

Besides, what he stole was dumb. Really dumb. So dumb in fact, that Dean who was the king of dumb called him a moronic asshole. That worried Sam a bit because Dean did some pretty stupid shit and if he thought that Sam's stupid was stupid – well that took stupid to a whole 'nother level.

The thing was, Sam didn't make friends that easy. It was hard and when Todd Beotcher dared him to steal the cigarettes- well Sam just had to prove he could. Todd said it was a right of passage and if he passed then Sam was worthy to hang with him and his friends because stealing cigarettes was hard. Really hard. You had to get behind the counter and the grownups watched kids like hawks. Sam wasn't dumb enough to know that Todd held any real control over the other kids or any thing but Sam liked a challenge. He almost made it too. Would have except for some lame customer.

Todd and his friends created a diversion and Sam reached behind the counter for the cigs. Fast, Sam was so fast and he would have made it except for the goody two shoes customer – not even the store owner – who noticed and grabbed him by the back of his hoodie.

Now Sam could've taken him down and in retrospect, maybe that would have been the wisest move but Sam figured getting caught doing something stupid like stealing cigarettes was something a dumb kid would do. Getting caught kicking a grown ups ass was not. So it was the lesser of two evils.

Sam's buddies cut and ran leaving Sam on his own. Sam apologized, offered to work off the debt, used every trick in the book, including puppy dog eyes but the owner of the store just bitched about how kids were constantly stealing his shit and now he caught one. It didn't matter that Sam had only been in town one week, Sam was going down for his crime as well as every other kid thief that ever stole something from Mr. Mac.

The only good thing was that Mr. Mac decided to not call the police and just his dad. For that Sam owed the man more than he could possibly imagine.

He was dead – that was true, but if he had been picked up by the cops? Well, whatever Dad had planned for Sam now would be nothing when compared with what that little scenario would have cost him.

Sam only waited for his Dad for maybe fifteen minutes but it felt like hours. Sam figured waiting on a punishment from John Winchester was like living in dog years. Every minute equaled at least seven minutes so a fifteen minute wait was a 105 minutes which was really an hour and 45 minutes.

Far too long when you are ten and about to get your butt roasted.

Sam heard his father's foot steps as they came up the stairs. They sounded ominous. Heavy boots, big man, squeaky steps, like something out of Sam's own personal horror movie.

Dad knocked on Sam and Dean's room once and then came in.

Sam couldn't meet his eyes.

"Can you tell me why, Sam? I doubt you are dumb enough to start smoking." Dad's voice was low and while not gentle didn't sound terribly angry either. That didn't mean much in Sam's experience. Dad didn't have to be mad to whoop you, it was a matter of cause and effect, not really anger.

"I dunno." Sam did know and he knew that his father knew too. So saying that was insane, because Dad hated, "I dunno", almost as much as he hated "whatever".

"Sam." There was a warning in Dad's voice now. Deep and low.

Sam picked at a small thread on his jeans.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." It was an order and Sam responded instantly.

"Why?" Dad demanded again.

"'Cause they dared me to."

"A dare? Sam – a dare?" There was disbelief in Dad's voice, "Don't we do enough shit that falls under the category of daring on a routine basis?"

"Yes, sir." And Sam couldn't say anything else because Dad was right.

"Okay, let's get this over with."

Dad pulled his belt out of his jean easily. A practiced motion but not just because he has been known to whip a kids butt with that belt, but because he took it off every night, carefully rolled it up and sat it on whatever table is available. Sam really doubted that he did it every night just to warn his boys what can happen if they push him too much, he just didn't like to keep his belt in his jeans. But it sat every night on a table rolled up, just waiting for a Winchester boy to do something this dumb.

Dad grabbed Sam's arm and turned him around, sat his own ass on the bed and then deposited Sam over his lap.

Sam prayed a silent thank you that his jeans were still up and would probably remain up. Dad usually doesn't take them down once he gets started.

But the belt was harsh. It was, even with jeans up. It stung and burned, a blazing trail of fire with each lick. Sam wondered how in the hell he let this happen. He was the smart Winchester.

Despite all the waiting it seemed to take before Dad came in, the whipping didn't take very long and Dad didn't lecture. Sometimes he would, but more often then not he saved his breath because usually whoever was getting their ass handed to them, knew exactly why. As much as Sam hated getting a licking he enjoyed the brief cuddle that usually followed. Dad held him tight and let him cry until there was no more cry left in him.

"Let's try not to do something this stupid again, Sam." Dad brushed Sam's long bangs from his eyes and wiped a calloused hand over his tear streaked cheeks.

Sam nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"Tomorrow we'll both go down and talk to Mr. Mac. You apologize again, you show him you mean it. We are in this town as newbies, but we need to be the good guys if we are to get any decent intel on the hunt I'm working on. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Okay, Sam. Hit the rack. Make sure your brother knows I didn't kill ya okay?

"Okay." Sam sniffled hard again and then stood up slowly. Getting yourself together after a John Winchester what-for was hard. The jeans that had offered some protection were now rubbing against his sensitive butt, he couldn't wait for his dad to leave so he could drop them and crawl into bed.

Luckily, Dad seemed to understand because he left right away, shutting the door behind him quickly. Sam listened to the footsteps of his father as he went back down the stairs.

Sam dropped his jeans and brushed his teeth. He felt more than heard Dean come in.

"You okay, shithead?"

"Yeah, I'll survive."

"Well probably 'cause he didn't actually catch you smoking. For a guy whose been known to smoke a cigarette or two, he sure doesn't want us to pick up the habit."

"I'll keep that wise brotherly advice at the top of my list of things not to do to piss off Dad."

"Smart move."

"So, do you want me to beat those jerks up for you?" Dean offered.

"Nah, it was my fault. I can handle them myself if I want to. It's nice of you to consider pummeling somebody for me though."

Dean grinned, "That's what big brothers are for."

Sam grimaced as he headed to his bed.

"Damn, Sam. Your thighs look like striped tomatoes."

"Thanks, Dean. I would never had known." Sam slid into bed, belly down.

Dean threw himself on his own bed with gusto.

"Next time you want to steal something – make sure it's something you really want and make sure I'm your back up. I mean, dude, have I taught you nothing?"

Sam sighed, "'K, Dean. I got it. I'm an idiot."

Dean laughed. "Not an idiot, just a dumb little brother. And my job is to take care of you and that means keeping your ass lilly white as well as all the other shit I do. You're messing up my 'keeping my little brother safe stats.'"

Sam had to laugh a little at that one, "Don't want to mess up your stats."

Dean nodded approvingly. "So, whatcha learn little brother?"

"Next time I'm gonna steal something, I'll talk to you first."

"Sounds like a good place to start – anything else?"

"Yeah, that and I don't care about Todd and his group of moron friends. They ran like little girls and they surely weren't worth this." Sam meant that really, he did. His ass was on fire.

"You got it Sammy. The only people you can really depend on is me or Dad. We'll never run away. We may whup your ass after you do something dumb but we'll always have your back."

"And my ass." Sam muttered.

"That too."

End.


End file.
